Khorne warband - solgt og bliver ikke længere opdateret.

[Troels S]

Vil ikke udelukke at den har forandret sig over årene, men synes bestemt at den får arbejdet gjort.

Jeg giver nu alligevel altid mine figurer lak, da fx. edgehighlights på udsatte steder vil blive slidt, hvis du spiller med figurerne ulakeret. 

[Dybdal]

Jeg giver nu alligevel altid mine figurer lak, da fx. edgehighlights på udsatte steder vil blive slidt, hvis du spiller med figurerne ulakeret.

Samme her. Jeg bruger GWs purity seal som gør figurene skinder lidt. Det synes jeg sku ikke gør noget.
Det beskytter mine egde highlights som nævnt

[GuitaRasmus]

Okay, jeg ER nu definitivt en nørd. Jeg havde aftenvagt i aften, og da jeg kom hjem gad jeg ikke rigtigt at male, så istedet sad jeg og stenede ved computeren, og blev inspireret til at skrive et lille stykke fluff om mit warband. Vær nu ikke for hård ved mig, jeg har aldrig skrevet den slags før.

"As he stood on the bridge of the battle barge, silently watching Abaddon instructing his captains on his tactics for the pending Dread Claw assault, Khelok heard a whispering; "Do it. For the glory of Khorne. Kill him. Take his skull. Let me taste his flesh.". The voice belonged to the daemon Khyil'Dem'Awl, an unusually spiteful and bloodthirsty bloodletter. It resided within the archaic engine and blade of his Bloodfeeder, Bane, a massive glaive topped with a rotor blade of unknown alloy, capable of cutting through steel, ceramic, bone and flesh with equal ease. It had taken tens of thousands of skulls, and would continue to do so, with Khelok wielding it, as long as the Blood God saw fit. Khelok had aquired it for what seemed like aeons ago, crushing every imperial guardsman, space marine and grey knight in his path to it. He had gotten word of it residing deep within the vaults of the inquisition on the planet Dumane. The inquisition had likely found it out of pure dumb luck, and, not knowing it's true power, but sensing it's taint from the Dark Lord, had decided to keep it safe. However, he had heard the daemons whispers across the warp, and heeding the call, he had summoned his warband, and launched an assault on the Imperial Fortress on Dumane. His berzerkers had crushed every guardsman in their path, but the Inquisitors and their seers had sought refuge deep within the Imperial Fortress, in the vaults where Bane was encased in psychic chains. Their psykers had called for help, and a force of Imperial Fists and Grey Knights had arrived, bringing severe losses on his warband. However, the Lord of Skulls had different plans, and summoned 8 Bloodthirsters, when the battle was looking bleak. Khelok had looked upon his squad of Khornes chosen with a mixture of wonder and delight, as wings, fanged maws, bulging muscles and and spikes burst through ceramite armour. The bloodthirsters quickly turned the battle, all but crushing every space marine.

Khelok, still gazing through the windows of Abaddons command bridge, looking at the stars, savoured for the moment the memory of the Imperial Fists commander, lying on the stairs, bones shattered from a blow from Kheloks powerfist. "Where is your god-emperor now?" Khelok roared, as he raised his foot and crushed the commanders head under the weight of his ancient terminator armour. Alas, his skull would have made a fine trophy, but there would be many more.

As the wounded and dying space marines lay in the halls of the fortress, the black surgeons wandered amongst them, gathering progenoid glands from the unsalvageable, and dragging the wounded warriors of the feeble and pathetic emperor to the operating rooms of the battlebarge, where Kheloks most skilled black surgeon, Kroenen, would transform these once mindless followers of the imperiums false preachings into glorious warriors of the Blood God, wielding torture, brain surgery and chemicals as his preferred tools. As he strode through the barren bloodspattered halls of the fortress, he heard the daemons whispers grow stronger. His bodyguard of chosen, encased in terminator armour, ripped through the blast doors, as they got closer to the heart of the fortress, the vault. Their lightning claws sliced through the last of the blast doors, and Khelok strode into the room. A dozen of quivering adepts, psykers and inquisitors were kneeling, facing away from Khelok and his bodyguard, deep in prayer, without a doubt knowing their doom was at hand. Khelok knew his loyal bodyguards thirsted for blood, and with a word from him, they lunged forward, transforming the loyalists into a fine mist of blood and tissue with their claws. Khelok gazed at a corner of the room, where an ominous glow emerged. There, fastened with steel straps, the daemon weapon sat. He strode across the room, and looked upon it. It was a savage piece of weaponry, spartan and pure in its construction. A massive saw blade emerging from an engine, the workings of which seemed impossible, protruding into a scarred and battle damaged shaft of black metal. The only decoration was a strip of cloth, it seemed, wrapped around the handle. Upon closer inspection, he saw the strip was not cloth, but rather a ragged long piece of human flesh, roughly sewn together from many pieces, each adorned with tattoos of the Aquila, an honour only bestowed upon the greatest warriors of the false emperor. A weapon worthy of a true servant of Khorne. Khelok ripped the straps of the wall, grabbing the weapon in his hand, and felt a rush of rage and power rippling through his darkened blood. The daemon spoke; "I'm yours. Take me. Together we shall gather millions of skulls for our lord, and leave a river of blood in our wake. Take me."

Khelok stood by the tactica screen, only a few feet away from Abaddon and his commanders, captains, lieutenants and sycophants. "Do it. Take his skull. I want to taste his Tzeentch and Slaanesh tainted blood." The daemon spoke once again, urging him to kill Abaddon. Such was the mind of daemons – never caring whose blood flowed, as long as it flowed. He had long ago grown used to the daemons constant whispering, craving blood, carnage and skulls. He felt the shaft of the weapon tremble in his hand – he calmed the daemon by quenching the handle, once more showing it who was the weapon and who was the wielder. It hadn't always been like this. Not long after he had aquired Bane, he had duelled with a champion of Khorne simpleminded enough to challenge him. As the champion had hurled himself toward Khelok, Khelok swung Bane, and sliced straight through the berzerker mid air, and the torso fell to the ground, dark red and black blood splattered on Kheloks armour. The daemon within, infuriated by the disappointment of the quickness of the battle, somehow impossibly took control of Kheloks arm, and redirected the swing of the weapon slicing open Kheloks skull, and removing his eye. Thanks to the Blood God, he was not mortally wounded, but it taught him a valuable lesson – to wield Bane was not only to fight your opponent, but also to fight Bane itself. He was never to let down his guard, for the bound daemon was just as eager to spill Kheloks blood, as his opponent's.

His bionic eye whirred as it focused on the tactica display – the clicks and whirrs a constant reminder of that day where he saw the true nature of Bane. Kheloks mind had wandered... As it so often did when the other commanders spoke of virus bombings, trenching and worst of all – psychic barrages. Where was the glory in that? How could you go without seeing the enemys terrified visage, the moment they realize that they will be yet another skull among the billions at the base of his lord Khornes throne?
Abaddon thankfully realized that this was not the way of the World Eaters, and made extensive use of Kheloks warband as shock and assault troops, throwing them into the midst of battle, to great effect. Such was the rage of his warband, that they could wipe out an entire company of space marines, and even the most bitter and battle hardened black legionaire dared not come near, until their berzerker rage had worn off. Abaddon gave out their assignment; Dumane had been repopulated, and the imperial fortress once again housed an astropath – an astropath, that could possibly catch drift of the Abaddons plans, and so had to be annihilated. The Imperial Fists forces on the planet proved a bigger task than the cultists could handle, so Kheloks warband was to be drop assaulted inside the fortress walls, and wreak havoc.
"Nabiskho" Khelok spoke, as he walked aside his long time battle brother and lieutenant; "You are to assemble the warband, ready them for the slaughter and load my Carrion ship – we will attack in 18 hours. Awaken your Slaughterfiend – the feeble loyalists will see who the true God is."

[Tyrrea]

Det var sku god læsning, håber lidt på en fortsættelse

Specielt denne "and even the most bitter and battle hardened black legionaire dared not come near, until their berzerker rage had worn off." fik et lille smil frem hos mig!

Good work.


Daniel

[Belial]

Jeg har også forsøgt mig med diverse billige og semi-billige alternativer til GW spray, men måtte sande hver gang at GW spray bare er bedst.

Men det er da frustrerende.

MVH

Belial

[Safran]

Skriv en bog, du er hammer fed til det, jeg vil have mere:-)

[Frederik]

Jeg har lige bladret alt dette igennem.
Sikken kreativitet, virkelig fede conversions og masser billeder.

Det kan jo næsten ikke blive bedre

...jo! Flere malede figurer

[Kim-Roskilde]

du har lavet nogen rigtig fede conversions...


en ting jeg tænket på..
din Juggernaut cavalry... hvad var din ide med det...?

[GuitaRasmus]

Mange tak for de pæne ord! Jeg skal nok snart få malet noget mere. Jeg har fået grundet terminatorne igen med GW maling, som, indrømmet, er meget bedre. Jeg er ved at smække maling på, men er du vimmer hvor tager de lang tid bare at basecoate - jeg bruger omkring en time bare på basecoaten, da alle guldkanterne først skal males brune for at få det til at dække. Der kommer forhåbentligt snart nyt.

Kim: Jeg ved det faktisk ikke rigtigt - jeg lavede dem bare fordi det så fedt ud.

Jeg har skrevet lidt videre.



As Nabiskho, Kheloks lieutenant, walked towards the battlebarges barracks, he felt a rush of blood to the head. He had been a berzerker of Khorne for so long that even the thought of pending battle could bring his surgically implanted glands, residing in his corrupted brain, to begin to release adrenalin and reducing serotonin, the process involved in inducing the berzerker rage, so feared by ally and foe of the World Eaters alike. He had long ago learnt to control it to some degree, only allowing himself to give in to the rage in the midst of battle, unlike the lunatic Kharn – he was without a doubt one of the greatest warriors of Khorne to have ever lived, but he was such a liability that very few lords dared send for his help – and somehow he still managed to show up without a warning, even on the most desolate of worlds, ready for slaughter, as if the Lord of Skulls himself had summoned him. True, he was a force to be reckoned with, able to turn the tide and wreaking havoc, but so strong was the rage with him, that few of Khornes chosen dared to be in his vicinity when all foes were slain.

However, such was the nature of the rage for many a berzerker – only the most experienced and strong of will was able to control it, and if a berzerker had been gripped by the rage for a full day, it could often take him another full day to calm down.

Nabiskho walked past the vault of the battlebarge, opening the bulkhead and entering the huge chamber. Here was the armoury of the World Eaters. He looked at the walls, where the many terrifying chainaxes, chainswords and glaives of the berzerkers sat, no doubt eager to have their archaic teeth whirring once again, cutting through blood and bone alike, bringing glory to the Blood God. A smile, revealing a mouth full of sharp jagged teeth appeared on Nabiskhos face. His features were indeed terrifying. He had long ago ripped the service studs of the false preachings from his skull, leaving indented craterlike scars. The mark of his lord was prominent, a never healing sore on his bleak bald scalp, and his brows, cheeks and and features had grown more bigger, granting him a beastlike appearance, in order to bring fear to the heart of his enemies. He relished in this – knowing that the last thing on this world his victims felt, was pure and utter terror. His power armour was ridden with spikes and jagged edges all over. Nary a spot could be touched unprotected, without drawing blood. His gloved hand dragged across the edge of his chainsaw, hanging on the wall. He longed for the sensation of feeling the handle with his own skin, but he had not been out of his armour for millennia. Such was the blessing of Khorne – the wearer of the armour was slowly but surely fused with his armour over the course of years, ceramite and skin becoming one. To remove his armour would be the same as removing his muscles and skin, not an ordeal to be survived. However, this gift was a great boon – it granted the wearer agility in wearing the armour that could never be accomplished by the equivalent worn by the armour worn by the pathetic loyalists.

He strode across the room approaching the warmachines. He stopped by a massive shell, bedecked with skulls, spikes, and brazen trims, hunched over, deep in slumber. The warmachine was thrice his height, a behemoth of a dreadnought, scarred with bullet holes and chipped paint from thousands of battles. The ceramite plates had once been blue and white, the colour of their origin, but now only a crimson red was to be seen – Nabiskho knew not if he had been repainted in the favoured colour of their lord, or if it was from the bloodspattered remains of its tens of thousands of victims. A dozen massive chains held it against the wall, for long ago they had learnt that a Dreadnought of Khorne, withheld from battle, was not something to be taken lightly. It had broken free from the vault, and maddened by the absence of battle, rampaged through the corridors of the battle barge, taking many a berzerkers skull before they had it chained down once again. The sarcophagus of the Dreadnought was adorned with a huge juggernaut head, eyes glowing brightly green in the midst of battle, but in its slumber only deep black holes were to be seen. "Soon" Nabiskho spoke. "Soon, my old friend, you will be released from your chains." The dreadnought, now named Ragnarok, had once been his battlebrother Nestley, and they had fought many a battle under the command of Khelok during the heresy. Upon being mortally wounded, Nestley had been placed in the sarcophagus, once again ready to slay for their lord. No follower of the emperor could stand against the raging behemoth, charging towards them, power claw glowing and saw whirring.

Nabiskho walked towards a dimly illuminated corner of the room. There his steed stood; a gigantic piece of machinery resembling a scorpion, a long extinct creature from the days of yore, on Terra. Gigantic legs, adorned with crimson armour plates, brazen trims and hundreds of pistons, carried it into battles, where its huge claws could crush anything in its path. Its tail held a massive battlecannon, responsibly for bringing down many a battletank. Nabiskho look upon it in awe and joy. A true defiler of Khorne. He had found it on the barren planet of Klekron, where it rampaged through the terrified human encampments, and revering in its destruction, he had decided to tame it. It had taken a fierce battle, costing the lives of most of his bodyguard, but in the end he had managed to leap onto the back of the beast and as the defiler reared, he slammed his fist into its skull, and grapping hold of the horns on its skeletal head, had taken control of the beast. As he held onto it, he roared: "I am Nabiskho, chosen of Khorne, slaughterer of thousands! You are to bow before my will!" and the daemon within had calmed. Whether it was through his will, his lord Khornes might, or if the daemon within had sensed an opportunity to be brought to bigger slaughters than Klekron had to offer, was unknown. Nabiskho cared not. He had rode it hundreds of times since, and struck an alliance of sorts with the daemon. Since he had had its hull modified with reins of chains, and a platform to stand on, as he rode the gargantuan slaughterfiend into battle. The platform was ridden with spikes, frames and rails, bristling with chains, allowing squads of fellow World Eater to latch onto it, carrying them into the heat of battle, in manner terrifying to behold.

As the lieutenant stood and beheld his great steed, cultists scurried about the chamber, preparing weapons for the forthcoming assault and lubing the pistons and machinery of the slaughterfiend with oils and fluids. A hunchbacked cultist, dressed in tattered robes, approached Nabiskho. "My lord..." he spoke. "... We are almost finished preparing your steed for battle. However, it seems to be in a sort of slumber, from which we cannot awaken it. What are we to do?" Nabiskho smiled, baring his grizzly teeth. "That, my servant, is where you come into play." Puzzled the cultist looked upon him. "Come with me." Nabiskho said. They walked over to the slaughterfiend, where the other cultists curiously looked at the lieutenant and the cultist – the lieutenant towering over the cultist, being almost twice as high. "The slaughterfiend must taste human blood regularly, in order to stay awake." Nabiskho said. "I see, my lord. Shall I fetch one of the thralls, from the torture chambers?" the cultist answered. "No, my servant, as I said, that is your assignment and destiny." Nabiskho said, as he quickly grabbed the cultist be the head, crushing his skull with armoured fist, as the implosion of blood splattered over Nabiskhos armour. Nabiskho ripped the bloody pulp that was once the cultists head from body, spine still attached, and squeezed the fluids and blood unto the gleaming brass symbol on the slaughterfiends forehead, as the remaining cultists looked upon terrified, but not saying a word. As the blood ran down into the beasts skeletal mouth, the eyes began to dimly glow an ominous green. "Awaken, my loyal steed." Nabiskho spoke. "We are going to war."
A growly impossibly deep voice roared from the beasts jaws, and echoed through the chamber; "Warrrrr...".

[Kim-Roskilde]

Rigtig nok.. de (den) ser også fed ud... bare surt at man ikke rigtig kan bruge dem til andet en som Chaos Lord & Chaos Sorcerer...

så vid jeg ved...

[Christian Nielsen]

Bikes? jeg ville i venlige spil ikke have store problemer med at det var en bike men det er jeg sikker på andre er uenige i 

[GuitaRasmus]

Argh... Jeg hader at basecoate. Jeg er lige blevet færdig med alt det røde og guldet på terminatorne. Det tog så også 4 timer - først basecoat, så stippling med rød, så brun til alle trims, og så guld til alle trims. Er I klar over hvor mange trims der er på 5 terminator lords???  Til gengæld skal jeg til det sjove nu, detaljer og wash.

Det er egentligt ikke en skid interessant, sidder jeg lige og tænker over. Tror bare jeg trængte til at skrive for at fortælle mig selv at der ER fremskridt. Fik jeg sagt at jeg hader at basecoate? 

[Dybdal]

Basecoating SUCKS!!!
Kan kun give dig ret!

[Kapersfingeren]

Rasmus du har simpelthen for meget tid 
Flotte konversions og generelt fede malet figurer. Må sige du har satme brugt nogle skejser på ogre bitz til din khorne hær men money well spent.

[GuitaRasmus]

Rasmus du har simpelthen for meget tid 
Flotte konversions og generelt fede malet figurer. Må sige du har satme brugt nogle skejser på ogre bitz til din khorne hær men money well spent.

Absolut ikke, jeg prioriterer bare min tid mærkeligt.

Jeg har faktisk ikke lagt en krone for de stonehorn kranier. Det ene fik jeg af en kammerat, det andet fik jeg af en af forældrene på mit arbejde, og det tredje byttede jeg mig til. Nu tror jeg så også jeg skal finde mig noget nyt - jeg er stadig på udkig efter en der har et zombie dragon/terrorgheist hoved liggende.

[GuitaRasmus]

Wuhuuu! Terminators er hermed færdige, og de ser brandgodt ud. Jeg prøver at tage et billede i morgen, hvis lyset er til det.

Nu er næste projekt mine carrions of Khorne (raptors), som skal have de svedigste resin heresy jump packs jeg har fået fra maxmini - de er top lækre og meget anbefalelsesværdige.

[GuitaRasmus]

Så er der billeder af den væmmelige Lord Khelok og hans garde:


















Jeg skal altså til at have bygget mig en lyskasse - det der med at bruge naturligt lys på denne årstid er ikke særligt holdbart, og farverne bliver stadig ikke rigtigt gode.

[Konstantin the Apostate]

Lord Kellog... spiser han mon Khorne Flakes til morgenmad ??

Sorry kunne ikke modstå 

Det ser som altid skidegodt ud, men som du selv siger, så er der ikke rigtigt knald på farverne. Men dit guld ser godt ud!

[GuitaRasmus]

Det er absolut også tiltænkt.   Lord Khelok - og berzerkere er jo lidt flaky, så Khorne Flakes passer jo meget godt - man kunne måske endda kalde dem cereal killers? Hans løjtnant er så navngiver efter Nabisco, Kelloggs største konkurrent. Championen i dreadnought'en hedder Nestley. ;-)

[GuitaRasmus]

Ovenpå den gang lal, må jeg hellere være seriøs et øjeblik. Jeg har bygget mig en lysboks af det der foam card, og ville lige prøve den:

[Andreas 2.0]

Det var kname en god ide med sådan en lysboks. Og så er det nogle møg fede modeller. Hvad er vi på i point efterhånden?

[Kapersfingeren]

Den lysbox hjalp for vildt på dine billeder, og jeg er vild med dine løbene termies og ofc lord khelog's khorneflakes.

[GuitaRasmus]

Takker!

Andreas: Faktisk ikke så voldsomt meget - jeg har faktisk kun 15 fodtudser indtil videre (5 terminators, 5 raptors og 5 "dynamiske" berzerkere. (de sidste 5, de gamle jump packs) blev ofre for army painter sprayen, og jeg synes ikke at de helt holdt standarden, så jeg tror jeg laver dem om.

Anyway, jeg trængte til en pause fra maleriet, så jeg har lavet en ny champion til de dynamiske berzerkere - den gamle blev offer for army painter dragon red (som maling så ikke sidder ordentligt fast på - argh.), så ham besluttede jeg også at lave om:






Jeg fik også en idé til min DC/Chosen squad, og ville lige prøve - hovedet og backpacken er kun lærertyggegummiet på, jeg skulle lige være sikker på placeringen:

[Tyrrea]

Ham den hoppende gut til sidst er dælme super (det er det hele jo men men)

Nyder at følge med i den her tråd!

[Kapersfingeren]

Det er fandme nogle fede poses du får lavet der.
Jeg syntes derimod det static grass ødelægger dine baser lidt med dets fesne grønne look.